


Trollian Hangouts

by animatedrose



Series: 2021 writings [12]
Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Blood, Casteism | Hemophobia (Homestuck), Danger, Intimidation, M/M, Seadwelling Trolls (Homestuck), Sewing, Trolls (Homestuck), Unhealthy Habits, bronzeblood flushcrushing on a violetblood, dangerous friends, temperature problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29815974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/animatedrose/pseuds/animatedrose
Summary: Braxin Sewler is just a bronzeblood seamster attempting to get by in life before he's either culled or shipped off-planet to die elsewhere in the universe. He's tired, he's hardworking, and he's tentatively hopeful for his own survival.Enter Mortim Byssal, a massive violetblood who enters Braxin's shop by chance one day.Suddenly survival doesn't matter. Braxin is addicted to this giant of a troll. This mysterious seadweller who'd rather sleep than cull lowbloods. Braxin needs more of him. All of him. He needs Mortim, no matter what the hemospectrum and Alternian society think.Mortim seems perfectly content to entertain this lowblood's pursuits. He could end it if it ever became a problem. Right?
Series: 2021 writings [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089221
Kudos: 1





	Trollian Hangouts

Your name is BRAXIN SEWLER. You are a BRONZEBLOOD troll living in the slummy side of OUTGLUT on ALTERNIA. You are SIX sweeps old and live alone.

And really, you do EVERYTHING alone.

You sew alone. You shop alone. You run from drones alone. Aside from your LUSUS, you have been alone since you left the BROODING CAVERNS.

You own a tiny sewing shop that you run alone. You don’t have a lot of business but you make enough to get by. Usually by fellow RUSTBLOODS who feel enough pity to toss you a few coins on their good days. Rarely by an overindulgent HIGHBLOOD who catches their eye on something you’ve made and doesn’t feel like cheating you on your set price.

It’s not extravagant. Your stuff is rather CHEAP. You’re too POOR to get your hands on high quality fabrics and materials, but a lot of EFFORT and LOVE is poured into what you create. Sadly, few seem to notice this.

And you’re FINE with that. You ENJOY what you do. You may as well enjoy what you like, considering the high CULL RATE for rustbloods nowadays. It was better than living every second in fear.

Or asleep. You don’t really SLEEP either. It took too much time away from your sewing.

**< BE BRAXIN**

It was another slow night. Braxin tapped away at his husktop, medium-length black hair curling around his face. Tired bronze eyes scanning the screen, ignoring the reflection showing off the dark bags under his eyes.

Trollian lit up in the corner of his screen, informing him that one of his few customers had hopped online.

Trollian was something that Braxin rarely used. He’d only gotten one because “everyone on Alternia has one” and…honestly, it was the only way to communicate with his small customer pool without having to run all over the city in search of them. He wasn’t big on exercise, so he cracked and made himself an account.

His friend list—he preferred customer list—only had eight people on it. Five were frequent customers, lowbloods who came in every few weeks when they had enough cash to spend on some new warm garment. Two were midbloods who only turned up every few perigees, if he was lucky. One was a highblood, a purpleblood specifically, who only appeared once in person to buy something but seemed interested in perma-stalking his online inventory.

Trollian beeped again. Somebody was chatting with him. Braxin sighed, bringing Trollian up and starting to type.

**suspiciousConfectioner is trolling reticentCouturier**

**SC: yo  
RC: Hi…  
SC: haven’t seen you around trollIan lately. everythIng okay?  
RC: I’m fine… Working as usual…  
SC: stIll not takIng a break?  
RC: Do drones ever take a break…?  
SC: no. what do they have to do wIth thIs?  
RC: Everything…  
SC: okay, look, I wanted to let you know that I saw some vIoletbloods down the street from you. just a warnIng.  
RC: A cull squad?  
SC: no clue but It doesn’t look good. they look angry. you pIss any hIghbloods off lately?  
RC: Not that I’m aware of…  
SC: shIt, they’re heading your way. brace for Impact!**

Braxin blinked, a bit confused. Then he heard his shop door slam open and he had his answer. He closed his husktop and rose.

Four violetbloods entered his shop. Three of them were tall and lean, all fins and sharp teeth and sparkling jewelry. The last one was big, having to duck and suck in their gut to fit through the door. They approached the counter, the biggest one pulling a huge hooded cloak from over their back. They dropped it on the counter, burgundy blood oozing from its thick, heavy folds.

“The rustbloods say that you’re the best guy in this shithole for the job,” one of the lean violetbloods hissed. “Mortim got his cloak wrecked. Fix it.”

“And fast. We’ve got places to go, fudgeblood!” another of the lean violetbloods spat.

Braxin picked up the material, struggling to fold it up to a more manageable size. It was soaked through with blood and was shredded along the bottom edge and left side. Like the big violetblood had caught it on something and stupidly tore it rather than attempting to carefully free it.

He didn’t bother naming his price. With royalty, it was better to let them set the price. If they set one. If not, he’d keep his mouth shut anyway. He’d rather not get culled today.

“I can wash this, but it may be best to have another one made. Unless you want a patchwork job. Finding this color and fabric will take time,” Braxin said.

“We don’t have time for that!” the third lean violetblood snarled, slamming his fist on the counter. “We have places to be, rustbloods to cull, the works! We can’t sit around here! Why don’t you have another in stock?”

Because this material was expensive. Because a bronzeblood like him could never afford this kind of material, even if he sold everything that he owned. Because the kind of perfection that violetbloods demanded took time to create. Because if he half-assed this, it was as good as an instant cull.

“We’ll go, then come back,” the big violetblood, Mortim, stated.

Braxin shivered. Mortim’s voice was deep and gravelly, yet…oddly soothing to his ears. The other three stared up at their huge companion in shock.

“If you can’t make another, then can you wash it and replace the lining? That should do until I get home,” Mortim continued. “I just need it to keep me warm.”

Braxin’s fingers traced over the lining. Soft material, cholerbear fur. He had that in stock. He could fashion a replacement lining and stitch it into place in twenty minutes. Hand-stitching, of course. Cholerbear fur was too troublesome to use a machine on.

The other three were already complaining, trying to convince Mortim not to do it. That he was being too lenient. That he shouldn’t have to wear a ripped cloak home.

“How long will you be gone?” Braxin asked, ignoring them. Focusing purely on Mortim.

Violet eyes, dark and tired, met his gaze. A big mouth, two thick fangs poking from his lips, barely moved from its soft frown. Black hair, tousled in a classic bed-head look, was oddly fitting. It was like the royal had rolled out of bed and never bothered to tidy up.

“Forty minutes, maximum. Thirty minutes, minimum,” Mortim replied.

“I can have it washed in ten minutes. The new lining prepped in five minutes. The old lining removed in two minutes. The new lining stitched in place in twenty minutes. I’ll be done with time to spare, regardless of if you’re back in thirty or forty minutes,” Braxin said.

Mortim blinked slowly, as if having not expected such a thorough answer. He stepped closer, scattering his smaller companions. He leaned over the counter, failing to get eye-to-eye but he was close enough to breathe on the bronzeblood. Mortim smelled like the sea, along with a hint of mint and vanilla.

“I’ll hold you to that.” Mortim held out a crumpled piece of paper. “Update me when you’re done.”

The other three exploded in panic. Babbling about how un-royal-like that was. That violetbloods didn’t give their Trollian handles to rustbloods. Yet no threats were spewed. Perhaps they were afraid of Mortim’s size, which no doubt added to his already formidable highblood strength.

Braxin scribbled out his own Trollian handle, trading paper scraps with Mortim. “I will,” he promised.

Mortim nodded, straightening up. Everything about him was so slow, so calculated. This was a troll that was aware of his size and mass. He turned and slowly lumbered from the shop. The other three violetbloods sputtered, glaring at Braxin. Then they scampered after Mortim, hissing and grumbling angrily.

Braxin stood ramrod straight until they were gone. Then his shoulders slumped. He stumbled back, dropping the bloody cloak on the counter. He sank into his chair, flinching when burgundy blood smeared on his cheeks from his hands.

He had spoken to that violetblood as if they were equals. He was begging to be culled.

His husktop beeped. Trollian was going mad. Braxin washed his hands fast and popped the husktop open, bloodpusher ramming against his ribcage.

**suspiciousConfectioner is trolling reticentCouturier**

**SC: hello? dude? braxIN? you alIve In there??  
SC: hellllloooooooo?  
SC: okay, If you’re dead, say nothIng.  
SC: …  
SC: okay, that was dumb.  
SC: say somethIng If you’re alIve.  
SC: …  
SC: dude, please don’t be dead, please!  
RC: I’m alive…  
SC: oh, thank gog! what happened?  
RC: I have to wash and reline a violetblood’s cloak in half an hour, minimum…  
SC: oh shIt. need help?  
RC: You can’t sew…  
SC: I meant moral help. not lIteral help.  
RC: I’ll be fine… I hope…  
RC: I’m going to go wash the cloak…  
SC: be careful, man.  
SC: hey, just In case!  
RC: Yes…?  
SC: If you dIe, can I move Into your hIve?  
RC: Sure…  
SC: sweet!  
RC: I’m going… Bye…**

**reticentCouturier stopped trolling suspiciousConfectioner**

Braxin closed his husktop, picking up the soaked cloak. He tried not to gag at the sight of all the blood oozing over his counter, staining the papers there and dripping onto the floor. It soaked into his clothes as he carried it into his sanitationblock, where his aquatic submersion cube and drying air unit were. He threw it in the aquatic submersion unit and turned it on, dumping in cleaning fluids.

Then he headed upstairs to his hive, built atop his shop. His lusus, a large white owl, slept deeply on his perch. Braxin crept silently under Owldad to his respiteblock, peeling off his bloody clothes and changing into clean ones.

Once he was decent again, he moved back downstairs and hunted through his inventory. It didn’t take long to find cholerbear fur. He pulled the roll off of the rack just as he heard his aquatic submersion cube chime.

He moved the cloak to the drying air unit, taking note of measurements. He applied these to the roll of cholerbear fur, cutting the correct length and width needed to line the cloak. Then he grabbed his best black thread and a strong needle.

When the drying air unit chimed, Braxin pulled out the cloak and his stitch ripper. He tore out the stitching that held the blackened lining in place, dumping it into a waste basket. The amount of blood staining it made the fur completely useless to him. He stretched the measured chunk of cholerbear fur over the dried cloak, making any last second adjustments.

He threaded his needle and began stitching, matching the seams to blend the white fur with the black of the cloak. The ripped corner bothered him horribly but right now, he had no means to fix it. He folded the edges of the tear inward and stitched it to prevent further fraying.

Maybe it would become some kind of violetblood fashion statement one day.

His palmhusk’s timer beeped just as he finished the last few stitches. He smiled, surveying his work. Not the greatest thing of all but it would do.

Braxin frowned, fingers running over the shiny black material. This was very expensive material. If he had some, maybe he could do a much better job. Make the replacement that Mortim’s companions had wanted from him.

He was scribbling names and numbers, measurements and notes, before he realized what he was doing. This was so stupid! He couldn’t possibly…

His husktop beeped. Braxin spun in his seat, checking. It was Trollian. A handle that he didn’t recognize immediately…until he did.

**abyssalReaper is trolling reticentCouturier**

**AR: <-Hi--  
AR: <-On our way back to you now--  
AR: <-Are you done with it?--**

Braxin had to remind himself to breathe. He typed, fingers shaking. Making so many errors and even screwing up his typing quirk. He had to go over it a few times before finally pressing SEND.

**RC: Just finished it…  
AR: <-Oh--  
AR: <-That’s good--  
AR: <-We’ll be there in two minutes--  
RC: I’ll be waiting…**

**abyssalReaper ceased trolling reticentCouturier**

Braxin’s bloodpusher was booming in his ears. He couldn’t understand why. He leaned back in his chair, focusing on breathing. He idly kicked his disposal basket under his counter.

He wondered briefly if Mortim would want the ruined cloak lining back. Or if he could keep it as a memento.

The two minutes seem to pass too fast. He jolted upright when the bell at his shop’s door jingled. The three lean violetbloods stayed outside this time, glaring in at him. Mortim’s big frame hunched and squeezed through the door, approaching the counter.

Braxin held up the folded cloak. Mortim picked it up, shaking it out so it would unfold. He looked over the repaired article with tired eyes. He gave a slow nod before donning it, pinning the clasp in place. A low rumble of approval escaped him.

“This is good,” Mortim said, lifting the ripped corner up. “You even patched this a bit.”

“It shouldn’t fray any further that way,” Braxin explained automatically.

“That’s good.” Mortim straightened, letting the cloak flow out behind him. He dug into his pants pockets, dropping various things on the counter. “This should cover it. Keep the extra. I have more than enough.”

Braxin felt like fainting. Gog, this was treasure! At least several hundred boonbucks worth. There were even chunks of gold here!

He was rich.

Mortim turned, lumbering for the door. “Maybe I’ll come back, if we return to this area. Uh…” He turned, blinking slowly. “Um… I’m Mortim. You are…?”

“B-Braxin,” he replied, embarrassed to have stuttered.

“Braxin,” Mortim repeated slowly.

Why did his name sound so good, rolling off the tongue of a violetblood? No, not a violetblood. Mortim. Just him. It made Braxin’s bloodpusher stutter and twisted his guts into knots.

Mortim turned, squeezing out the door. There was no goodbye. No “see you later”s. One minute, Mortim was there. The next, he was outside, being swarmed by his companions. They moved down the street and vanished from his window’s view.

Braxin sat there for several minutes, staring at the spot where Mortim had stood. Star struck in a way that he couldn’t describe. Even though he knew the royal was gone, he couldn’t stop imagining the other still standing there. Looking at him with that tired, dark gaze. The faintest of smiles on those fanged lips.

_What is the matter with me?_

His husktop beeped again. Braxin checked it, bloodpusher sinking when he didn’t see Mortim’s Trollian handle. He sighed, answering the message anyway.

**suspiciousConfectioner is trolling reticentCouturier**

**SC: yo.  
SC: you stIll alIve, dude?  
RC: Yes…  
SC: sweet! but also, awwww. No hIve for me.  
RC: Woe is you…  
RC: Hey, question…  
SC: yeah?  
RC: Is it possible to have a flushcrush on a royal…?  
SC: …  
RC: Dallus…?  
SC: um… why?  
RC: Because I think I’m flushcrushing on a violetblood…  
SC: what?? why?? how??  
SC: talk, damn It!  
RC: Nothing to talk about beyond that…  
SC: dude, you can’t do that! I mean, you can but…nothing wIll come from It!  
RC: So…?  
SC: do you even know theIr name??  
RC: Mortim…  
SC: oh shIt, the bIg guy??  
RC: Yeah…  
SC: you’re suIcIdal, dude.  
RC: Maybe…  
RC: I, uh…have his bloody cloak lining still…  
SC: dude, no. no. stop rIght there. don’t do It.  
RC: …  
RC: Too late…**

Braxin removed the ruined cholerbear fur lining from his waste basket. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do with it yet, but he no longer wanted to get rid of it. He just needed to find a use for it.

A personal use.


End file.
